


The Spell that Binds

by Donna_Immaculata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/pseuds/Donna_Immaculata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Auror Ron Weasley is sent to inspect Nurmengard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spell that Binds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Slash Superchallenge](http://violet-quill.livejournal.com/392781.html)

It was Ron's first assignment without Harry, and his heart was beating fast as he was edging forward cautiously in the skinny German's tow who was his partner on this job. Nurmengard had been abandoned decades ago, but now the Federal Wizarding Government of Thuringia had made the decision to restore and place, decontaminate it from all lingering remnants of Dark magic and put it back into operation as a high-security prison for the Dark wizards who had been supporting You-Know-Who during the last war. On the whole, German witches and wizards had been peaceful since Grindelwald's fall these 60 years ago, but some rogue elements had been creeping out of the dark corners, willing to risk everything to help a new Dark Lord to build up an empire. They were now imprisoned in provisory camps, and some of them had been carted off to Azkaban, which was bursting at the seams. The German Rath der Hochehrwürdigen Magier had agreed to open up Nurmengard again, and Ron had been sent to Engelshausen in order to inspect the location.

"Halt!" came the German's voice from the darkness. "There's someone in there."

Ron's breath caught and he felt cold sweat break out all over his body. "How can this be?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible in his own ears. "This place is supposed to be long abandoned."

The German shrugged. "I don't know. Now stand back. There are powerful spells protecting this place."

Ron could feel it, too. They were standing in front of a door that looked deceptively brittle. The surface was bedecked with ornaments and patterns, which seemed to slither and change before his very eyes. He could never focus long enough on a spot to actually see them move, but he had the uncanny feeling that the door was alive and maybe even sentient. It was made from wood that was heavy and dark with age. It was impossible to tell how many centuries the door had already been there, how many prisoners had perished on the other side.

"Come on, you must help me!" the German hissed impatiently. Ron startled and tore his gaze away from the door. His eyes were burning and he had to blink very hard, several times, to clear them. He raised his wand.

Their spells coiled from the tips of their wands, slowly and lazily, making their way through the already spell-laden air. They hit the door where they spread like drops of blood hitting the surface of clear water. The protections were still in place.

It took them a considerable time before the spells lifted. Ron exchanged a glance with his partner, who nodded curtly. The German lay his gloved hand carefully on the bolt, while Ron held his wand aloft, ready to defend them both in case any jinxes were triggered.

But nothing happened. The door swung open in its hinges, and then they were inside. In the far corner, a crumpled figure was crouching by the wall. It looked like a mass of hair and rags, but Ron knew that the figure was human and that he was still alive.

And then it moved. Shooting forward with snakelike speed, the man thrust himself to their feet, crushing into the protective layer of spells they had both conjured up around themselves. "Albus!" he croaked.

~*~

"Okay, it looks like that," the German said when he and Ron had left the cell again, leaving the man behind, tied up securely with ropes Ron had conjured up. "This prisoner was left behind, because no-one could break the enchantments holding him here. They are keyed to one person, and that person..."

"...is Albus Dumbledore," Ron finished grimly. "Yeah, I get them. Problem is, mate, Dumbledore's dead, so unless we can bring him back to life, we'll have to leave this bloke there."

The German was eyeing him thoughtfully.

"Albus Dumbledore might be dead," he said eventually, "but he," he indicated the cell, "he seems to think that he's just seen him."

"Don't be daft!" Ron said impatiently. "I know he seemed to think I was Dumbledore just then, but that was the... the element of surprise. Merlin knows how long he's been sitting there. He's gone completely mental by the look of him, and when he saw me enter, in the twilight, he must have been confused. Doesn't mean I could pretend to be Dumbledore."

"You could try."

"Listen, mate. Even if I did – enchantments don't work that way. It's got to be the real thing to lift the spells."

"Not if it is he who's got to lift them," said the German.

Ron frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple. The prisoner was left behind when this place was cleared. I don't think they wanted to leave him here, he was forgotten. Overlooked. Nurmengard has been abandoned for twenty years now – but he's still alive. He hasn't starved to death. There's still food coming in, somehow. All this means that he had taken precautions, that he wanted to be left here. That he had protected himself from being taken away. Don't you think?"

"Yeah, I suppose it makes sense," Ron said slowly. "Still, there's nothing I can do."

"You could try," the German repeated.

And Ron did.

~*~

"Hey there, mate," he said warily on entering the cell. The German had remained outside, keeping guard. "How are you doing?"

The man lifted his head, covered in a mass of grey, matted hair, and shot Ron a toothless grin. His eyes were feverishly bright. "Albus," he croaked. "You came for me."

"That's right," said Ron, crouching down by the man's side. "I came for you. And now you've got to come with me. We'll bring you to a... a different place. This room is needed."

"Albus," the man repeated, his eyes glowing ever more brightly. "Albus, you came for me."

And before Ron could even give a gasp of surprise, the man's thin, claw-like hand had wrapped itself around Ron's neck, and the man was pressing his face against Ron's chest, almost suffocating Ron with the stench of his hair. Ron choked and spluttered, but the frail-looking creature's grip was strong. He didn't seem dangerous, only desperate, and Ron's thoughts were running in mad circles while the man was exhaling humid breaths against Ron's neck.

"There, there," Ron said vaguely, patting the man's back. "Everything's alright now. Just let go of me and we'll get you out of here."

The man shook his head vehemently, and another wave of smell hit Ron's nostrils. He averted his face in disgust.

"Can't," he croaked. "You know I can't. Albus. My precious."

"Why not?" Ron asked, willing himself to not dwell on another, rather worrying, line of thought that had just begun to emerge. "What's keeping you?"

The man gave a harsh laugh. "You know what's keeping me," he said, and his voice no longer sounded old and brittle. It was low and calculating now. "You're keeping me, Albus. As long as I can't find it in myself to give myself lovingly to another, you had said, I will not be able to leave this cell."

"O-kay..." Ron had started to disentangle himself from the man, trying to get away quickly without startling him. "Then maybe... maybe we should look for another way..."

"Don't leave me, Albus!" There was another change of tone. The voice was urgent, desperate. "I am ready. I will give myself to you. If you let me."

"No!" Ron jumped to his feet in blind panic, letting the man fall to the ground heavily. "I'm sure there is another way. And if there isn't – well, then you will have to stay here. We'll find another cell for the other prisoners."

The glowing eyes peered up at him, burning madly above a crooked grin. "Ah, but you're forgetting, Albus," the man said softly. "I have always been more than a match for you. As long as I am keyed to you, I cannot leave this cell. And guess what?" he giggled, and the sound shot straight to Ron's spine which seemed to liquefy. Dropping to his knees which had just given way, he heard the man's voice as though from a long distance: "Neither can you."

"You will be able to leave the cell when you," Ron swallowed thickly around his wooden tongue, "when you give yourself to another? Lovingly?"

"Of course," said the man. "That was the deal."

Later, Ron didn't quite remember how it happened, and he was glad for it. There were some indistinct memories of matted hair and mouldy clothes, and, first and foremost, the overpowering stench that was seeping from every pore of the man's body. Bony hands tore on his Auror's robes, freeing him from his garments, until he was naked but for the cravat still slung around his neck and his heavy boots. The man was naked, too, he wasn't wearing anything under his tattered outer robe. His body was emaciated and greyish pale, and his bones and bluish veins were standing out prominently. He had tried to kiss Ron, pressing his filthy face and his toothless mouth against Ron's face, and, almost gagging with repulsion, Ron pushed him away and forced him to turn over on the grimy floor. "I want you like this," he forced the words out through gritted teeth, ignoring the sight of the man's vertebrae poking through the parchment-like skin on his back.

"Albus, Albus, Albus," the man was chanting, "my Albus. Just like the old times... take me."

"Oh God," Ron groaned, tears shooting to his eyes. His body was trying on its own accord to recoil from the ghastly sight and smell, and it was all he could to stop himself from retching and springing to his feet to hide in the corner furthest from the man. "I can't do this."

The man froze in his awkward position on his hands and knees. "Albus. What are you saying?" he whispered. "Can't what?"

Unable to take his eyes off the sight of the man's naked arse, Ron swallowed and said. "Maybe we should postpone it. I don't want to... hurt you."

"Albus, my darling," the man whispered. "Always so considerate. I thank you." He began to move slowly, trying to roll over, but Ron pressed his hand onto his back and forced him to keep still. The man obeyed. "What is it?" he asked. "Let me lie down beside you... kiss you... That will be more than enough after all these years of separation."

""No!" Ron spluttered. "You've got to give yourself to me, don't you? Otherwise we'll remain trapped." He began to masturbate himself frantically, willing his cock to harden just enough to be able to penetrate the man. Anything was better than having to look down at that face, having to endure the smell of that mouth. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ron conjured up forbidden images of himself and Fleur, thinking of fucking Bill's wife hard up the arse, her silvery hair tangled in his hands and her moans and French curses piercing the air. Bill was watching them from the shadows, his cock hard in his trousers, and Ron stared his brother defiantly in the eyes while Fleur's arse was clenching around his cock.

Ron opened his eyes. His cock lay thick and heavy in his hand and arousal was spreading like a heat wave though his body. He had to do it now, before the spell was broken.

Ron spat in his hand, and the man on the floor groaned with lust. "Now, Albus. Please."

Gritting his teeth in disgust, he reached out and touched the pale, saggy arse, his other hand working furiously to keep his cock erect. He had to watch what he was doing, but he was trying to hold on to the images of Fleur's inviting arse, of Fleur's face as she shot him a coy look over her shoulder, of Bill's heavy-lidded gaze on both of them. The flesh under his hands was hot and moist. Ron ignored the hair growing on the old man's arse, inside his cleft, and he pressed a spit-slicken finger inside his tight hole.

The man groaned loudly. "Yes, Albus, like that."

Not daring to wait too long, Ron pressed a second finger inside him, feeling the arse clench around them like Fleur's arse in his fantasy. It was burning hot.

"I'm going to fuck you now," Ron spat, suddenly angry beyond belief. "You filthy piece of shit, I'm going to fuck you, and you won't be able to walk for weeks when I'm through with you."

The man was talking again, mumbling and groaning, but Ron didn't hear the words over the rushing of blood in his ears. He pulled out his fingers harshly, wiping them on his discarded robe, and gripped his cock hard, pointing it at the hole between the man's arse cheeks.

The first thrust was painful. The man was tight and insufficiently prepared, and Ron's cock kept sliding off. He hurt himself when trying to press inside too vehemently, and he was beginning to lose his erection, but then he made his brother whip out his cock and shove it into Fleur's mouth, and the fantasy proved sufficient for him to remain hard. There was a sudden cry, something broke, and Ron was sliding in, pushing his cock all the way up the old man's arse. The man was trembling, supporting himself on shaking arms, but Ron didn't care. All he did care for was the heat around his cock, the uncontrolled spasms of the man's anus which were massaging his cock as he began to fuck in earnest.

Fleur was no longer necessary. All that counted now was the friction and the heat, and the speed, more and more speed, as Ron's thrusts became more shallow and his breathing more laboured. He came deep inside the man's arse, burying himself completely with one final push of his hips.

There was no aftermath. As soon as he had his limbs under control, Ron pulled away and his softening cock slipped out with a wet sound. Without looking at it, Ron cleaned it with a flick of his wand and pulled on his robe. He was fully clothed before the man had even had time to gather his wits and raise himself into a more dignified position.

"Thank you, my precious," the man said after he, too, had put his robe back on. "That was delightful."

Ron forced himself to give him a smile, which came out as a grimace. "Umh," he muttered.

"My name is Gellert, by the way," the man said pleasantly, extending a hand. "Since we haven't been introduced."

Ron stared at him. "Gellert," he whispered, fighting for control. "Gellert... You know who I am. I'm Albus."

The man laughed, and it was a cold, high-pitched sound. "No, you're not," he said. "Do you really think I would mistake you for my Albus? But I must admit, you performed your role well. What do you say, should we have another go sometime? Now that the door stands open for us to go where we please?"

And with these words, Gellert Grindelwald stepped through the doorway and into the German Auror's magical transport cage, leaving Ron throwing up violently on the cell floor.


End file.
